


the little house by the waterlily pond

by SeeCee



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Loss, M/M, Missed Opportunities, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 15:59:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9449255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeeCee/pseuds/SeeCee
Summary: Peter lost the one person he loved the most. Now, all he wants is to understand.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A year ago today I lost someone very important to me, which left me with a whole lot of bottled up grief.  
> This story was therefore kinda hard for me to write because a lot of themes from my own life kept popping up. But on the other hand it gave me a way of dealing with the pain.
> 
> So, this is for you M.

Four hours by horse from Cair Paravel, hidden in a forest, among a sea of wildflowers used to be a little house. More of a cottage, actually. And before that it was a decrepit shack with one wall partially missing. No idea what it had been before that. But that's how they had found it, Edmund and him, one mellow afternoon in late spring.

That's how it had started.

 

"What do you think this is?" Edmund asked as he slid off the saddle.

"Don't know. Old hunting lodge, maybe?" Peter guessed, decidedly staying atop his own horse.

"No way, there haven't been humans in these parts for decades."

"Judging by its run down state, that's exactly how old it is," Peter said and watched his brother advance closer and closer to the dilapidated hut.

Peter let out a sigh. He might as well join Edmund then. Likely, he won't be interested in hunting again until he found a clue to the cabin's origin.

"Why did the wall break down, you think? A fire?" Edmund wondered as he stepped inside.

"No, the surrounding woods don't suggest that, at all," Peter picked up a window shackle that had fallen from its shingle and fouled in the grass beneath. "Probably just decay. The wood turned mouldy and began to fall apart by itself."

Listlessly, he flung the piece back to the ground.

"Look," Edmund called from inside and Peter moved onwards to the former front door. Squeakily, it opened up.

"They had a fireplace here," Edmund smiled at his discovery. "Over there is something that was probably a stove once and see there in that corner? A zinc tub."

Peter followed Edmund's directions dutifully everywhere he pointed until, at last, they ended back up on his brother.

"Someone actually lived here," Peter concluded.

"A family maybe."

"Or a weary, old warrior and his trusted dog."

"Or two star-crossed lovers, shunned from their home towns, coming here to build themselves a new life," Edmund said, his eyes glossing over.

"Or us," Peter decided.

 

For the start, they had wood shipped in from Archenland and tools and construction plans made from designs of the old Giant handymen union. For the interior they imported rugs from Calormene, cutlery and other household objects they nicked from the castle but the rest of the furniture they build themselves.

 

It was a lot of trial and error in the beginning. Their fingers needed bandages more than a few times. The first couple of things they tried their hands on either came out okay (the kitchen chairs) or wonky and precariously rickety (the bed and bookshelf). Quickly enough, though, they figured out which of them excelled at certain ventures and which they better left to professional hands.

 

The hardest part was rebuilding the walls to be actually sturdy and long-lasting. Edmund proposed running against each of them to see if they'd last. Peter protested vehemently. A week later, without coming up with a better idea, he volunteered to be the first to safeguard his limbs with cushions and propel himself against their bedroom wall. It held.

 

Another difficult part was keeping their endeavour secret from their sisters and personnel. Naturally, you would wonder why the Kings would order boatloads of seemingly unrelated stuff and then cart it off without any sort of explanation. Taking a whole cavalry of non-speaking horses with them, as well.

“Just why won't the two of you tell us what's going on?” Susan demanded.

“Or at least let us come along!” Lucy protested.

“You really want to know what we're doing with all these things?” Peter asked. “Where we're going off to every weekend?”

“Yes!” They both iterated. Lucy excited, Susan exasperated.

“Obviously, we're building a fort,” Edmund said. “A secret base, no girls allowed.”

“What?!” Lucy whined.

“Preposterous,” Susan scoffed.

“It's true,” Peter assured. “It's to protect Narnia from nosy old lassies like the two of you!”

Immediately, Lucy jumped Peter and pummelled him wickedly, while Susan went off on a rant against her smartypants brothers.

When finally they could steal themselves away, their horses galloping to the wild rhythm of their free hearts, Edmund let out a loud shriek of laughter, hands flung towards the sky, the wind rushing through his hair.

“You're a good liar,” He laughed.

“You're an even better one,” Peter answered with a grin.

 

During a sudden change of weather they retreated back into a little cave where, incapable of continuing their intended work, they passed the time playing chess with twigs and rocks on a makeshift board scratched into the mud. When hours had passed and the sky still didn't seem to clear up they decided to return to Cair for the meantime. The weekend after that they made sure to complete the roof. Thenceforth, they never again had a reason to cut their time at the house short.

 

The time passed quickly with their sweaty bodies tanning in the sun. Peter always discarded his shirt at the first sign of exertion. It took Edmund to feel the first drop of sweat running down his skin to do as his brother. At times the sun's blazing was too suffocating for any strenuous work, especially in the mid hours, leaving them to take a break for over two hours sometimes. Often, they would venture along to the little pond Edmund had found the second time they had come here. It was deep and wide enough to easily swim a couple of rows. Also, of course, filled with waterlilies. Light rosé, still protectively curled in on themselves, the flowers were in picturesque contrast to the green of their beds and the clear blue of the water.

At first, Peter had hoped for a nice fishing spot but the pond, although far away from being devoid of life, was instead mainly filled with frogs. Nonetheless, they found themselves bathing and lazing down there often enough. Always naked, sustaining themselves with a nice rounded tan.

Thus, they spent nearly every weekend rebuilding their cottage.

 

Summer was over by the time they finished.

 

The work had put strain on their muscles and chips in their fingernails but when Peter hammered the last floorboard down and Edmund pulled the rug over it, they were content with themselves and smiled at each other with satisfaction.

“Time to clean up,” Edmund said and together they made the short track to the pond.

 

When Edmund stepped on the makeshift wooden jetty, one of the first things they had tried to build and would probably have to redo sooner than later, he didn't crouch down.

Instead, he watched the water's surface, the last bloom of the lilies and waited until Peter stood next to him.

Usually, cleaning up for them meant simply washing the grime and sweat off their arms and faces, but today they had finished the house so today was different.

One lonely pair of birds cawed in the distance. They undressed.

Peter began with the pants and Edmund with his shirt. They didn't look at each other or touched but they were as aware of the other's body as they had been all summer.

Edmund was quicker and with a great leap his naked form was swallowed by the water. A drop of its splash hit Peter's thigh. Then he jumped, too.

 

On their way back, water dripping off naked skin and clothes bunched together, Peter couldn't help himself but pluck a bouquet of wildflowers. Violet heartsease, red and golden field poppies, yellow marigolds, blue cornflowers.

When he finally made it through the front door, he found Edmund towelling off his hair in front of the open window, letting in the last tired rays. Soon they'd need to kindle open fires during the nights.

Peter filled a painted vase full of water and placed it on the kitchen table. Edmund, watching him, pulled an amused smile.

It didn't bother Peter, somehow he thought it fitting for them to be there. When the arrangement was to his satisfaction Edmund threw him a towel and splayed his own out to dry. Peter's skin didn't really need the towelling but he rubbed himself down all the same.

"Don't forget your hair," Edmund remarked idly, already lounging on the bed. "We only have this one set of sheets."

"You're as prickly as Susan about these things sometimes," Peter mocked.

"She tends to be right about most of them."

"For example?" Peter prompted, putting his towel out next to Edmund's.

"For example, she thinks you are an insufferable romantic," Edmund jests with a gaze to the flowers.

"Mm," Peter made and lay down with his brother, who scooted over slightly. "She also thinks I need a wife."

Edmund's fingertips landed on his biceps and slowly travelled down along his arm.

"Well," He sighed, his voice growing quieter. "I did say about  _most_ things."

 

They lay quiet for a while. Peter on his back, staring at the ceiling, and Edmund on his side, fingertips grazing through the faint hair on Peter's arm. When he turned around Edmund took his hand away.

Peter was already rock hard, and even though he wanted to, he did not take his eyes off of Edmund's. Instead, he cupped his cheek and moved their faces closer together. Edmund was calm as the wind, his gaze steady on Peter's. They breathed and took each other in heartbeat for juddering heartbeat. Then Edmund gave the tiniest nod and they kissed.

Very chaste.

When Peter opened his eyes again, a small secret smile formed on Edmund's lips. Peter mirrored him. It was reassuring to know he wasn't the only one.

A beat passed before, simultaneously, they pulled each other close again. Their kisses grew longer and heavier until eventually they didn't truly part at all any more. Hands moved to necks and shoulders and hair. Then Peter licked Edmund's lips apart and Edmund shuddered beneath him. That sensation ran like a thrill along Peter's spine and he grew bold enough to move on top.

Edmund hiked one knee up so Peter could fit between his legs easier. Their cocks brushed. A moan from Peter, a bitten lower lip from Edmund. He did it again.

Just a second Peter opened his eyes. He watched Edmund throw his head to the side. Being flooded by the most exquisite pleasure. Peter wanted to devour him right then and there. Instead he buried his nose in the crook of Edmund's neck and began to slowly rock into him. Edmund's arms snug around him.

 

Revelling in the feeling that travelled from his cock through every nerve of his body, Peter wished to intensify it still. To have their members slide against each other even hotter. Therefore, he reached one arm out to the night stand. Something clinked as he opened the drawer. Inside he found a second vial to the one he had brought.

It made him halt for a moment. Then Edmund's hand landed on his beating chest.

"I really wanted to go all the way, I'm sorry," He explained. "I hope that's okay."

Peter focused back on him.

"It is," He reassured, stroking a hand through his brother's dark hair. "You sure it's not too fast?"

Then Edmund slung two arms around him until Peter's face was once more buried in the crook of his neck.

"It feels like I waited for this forever," He whispered and Peter wondered at the strangeness of his voice.

 

Then Edmund guided their mouths back together and Peter all but forgot about the oil. Until Edmund moved on top of him. His legs spread around Peter, dragging his dick over Peter's stomach. He steadied his hands on Peter's chest and rocked a few times quickly forwards before sliding sensuously slow backwards. His ass ground hard over Peter's tip and before he could move even lower Peter's hands dug into his waist. But Edmund wouldn't be stopped no matter how harsh Peter's fingertips were. Head thrown back, Edmund sighed passionately.

Then he took the vial out of the night stand and pressed it to Peter's chest.

"Do it, please?" He asked and Peter could swear his heart fluttered.

 

Not being able to properly see what he was doing, Peter tried to take his cues from the sounds Edmund made as he inserted finger after finger. When Edmund's head dropped completely, his hips rocking needy over Peter's tummy and he moaned wetly into his shoulder, Peter deemed him ready.

Reassuringly, his left hand stroked over Edmund's heaving flank.

"You good?" He asked.

"Yeah," Edmund answered after a pause, lifting his head and pushing the strands of hair out of his face.

"All right, then," Peter said.

"All right, then," Edmund smiled.

Gently, Peter guided Edmund under him and used the rest of the oil to stroke his own dick a couple of times. Edmund, legs spread, watched him. His own cock stood proud. It would be the first of many times Peter would feel awestruck by his brother's beauty.

 

He wishes now he had vocalized it more often, too. And not just that. All the things that had crossed his mind whenever he had looked at Edmund. Not just then, either. But all the time. Every day he should have told him. ... These thoughts are futile, he knows. They only procure more guilt. And guilt is useless. It doesn't fix anything.

 

Cautiously, he moved forward. That first nudge of his cockhead against the soft furl of Edmund's hole was like a punch to the gut. Never... Never had he felt like in this very moment. Scared and without a smidge of control, only this deep burning desire for this pale, flushed boy under him. Swallowing, he pushed forward and entered. The way Edmund's face scrunched up, Peter instinctively wanted to kiss it better. But the nails digging into his shoulder reminded him to stay vigilant, alert. Edmund could lose himself in every sensation but Peter needed to observe everything, to take everything in as clearly as if he would never see it again. Slowly, he kept inching his way in. Pulling almost all the way out, then going a bit deeper in every time. Edmund, trying so hard to relax and yet, involuntarily, kept squeezing him. When suddenly with his last thrust Edmund seemed to open up under him, almost sucking him in until Peter was fully inside. He had to stop moving in order not to come right there. Edmund used the moment to pull him down so they could exchange panting half kisses. It was Edmund then, who moved his hips first and Peter readily fell into his rhythm. A couple of slow thrusts to find their right angle and finally Edmund's features went blank, opening up in pure bliss. Peter himself, trapped in by that wet heat, relentlessly increased his pace. Feeling almost helpless the way he couldn't stop bucking and fucking into Edmund. Then the fall, akin to what he imagined falling off a cliff might feel, and for the first time he discovered that love was terrifying. So he made sure to hold Edmund very close when he came, too. Scrambling and shaking. Breaking in Peter's arms.

 

Summer was over and just like that, they had become lovers.

 

 

 

°-°-°-°-°

 

 

 

"My, my," She says, leaning into the door frame, cigarette dangling from her mouth. "To what do I owe this rare visit, I wonder?"

"Susan," Peter smiles.

 

She leads him into the living room and motions for him to sit down on the nicer of the two red sofas. There's grandmotherly cloth draped over it to protect the upholstery.

"Coffee?" She asks, fussing quickly with a cushion, the stamped out cigarette still emitting smoke from the middle of the couch table.

"Tea, if you have it."

"Of course," She smiles trained. "Make yourself right at home, I'll be but a minute."

The hall they went through, the glimpse he caught from one of the open children's rooms and now the living room, the place is cluttered. Almost untidy compared to the last time he had been here, feels less homely, too.

“Forgot to ask, but you don't mind breakfast tea, do you?” She comes back in and puts down the cup in front of him.

“It's perfect, thank you.”

“So, finally on holidays, are you? Your boss getting nicer?”

“Actually,” Peter says and clinks the spoon against the saucer. “I quit.”

“Oh?” She takes a sip from her coffee, feigning nonchalance.

“Yeah, decided I wanted to come back home, be closer to family again.”

There is a displeased twitch around her mouth. Peter wouldn't have noticed hadn't he been on the look out.

“What about Lisa? I thought you two were getting married.”

“Didn't work out.”

“I'm sorry to hear.”

Susan's still holding her cup in front of her. Peter, much calmer, takes his first sip. Nothing fancy. Like everything else around here it has a stale, loveless taste. For a split second Peter wonders if it would be very audacious of him to pity his sister.

“Where are James and Buckley, anyway? Haven't seen those little rascals in forever.”

“They're out and about somewhere,” She says with a cold undertone. “You know children that age, always off getting themselves dirty somehow.”

He laughs affected. It's clear that Susan loves her children. James and Buckley... must be around seven and five by now. Peter never cared much for either of them. The last time he had seen them Buckley, then three years old, was a little sadist always off picking on other children and animals. Of James he only remembers the never ending screaming. He had liked to see himself as the cool uncle but, unlike Edmund, he lacked the patience.

Edmund had been great with them. Even though, no one had suspected him to be. Then again, he had been a difficult child himself... and Peter had been impatient with him, too.

Maybe it was better then the way it had been. Maybe, like this, Peter would never have to find out that he'd be a horrible Dad.

 

_They had lain in bed, Edmund curled into Peter's side, the both of them listening to the pitch pitch pitch of the rain outside._

“ _You know that big elm by the pond?” Edmund had said. “It has this one really sturdy branch. I thought maybe we could chop it off and- “_

“ _No! The children need a swing- !” Peter blurted out, regretting it immediately._

“ _What... children...?” Edmund had asked, all confused. His eyes on Peter, who desperately wanted to disappear, already feeling the heat rise in his cheeks._

“ _Oh,” Edmund made after a long pause. Then he planted a kiss on Peter's shoulder, moved up and planted a kiss on Peter's chest, then his collarbone and throat and chin, the corner of his mouth and then face hovering over his, Peter dared to look back._

“ _Oh, I see,” Edmund smiled and lowered their lips together._

 

“How's Steven, then?” He asks.

“Oh, working hard as ever, you know him.”

“Many late night shifts, huh?” He jests and winces at his own cruelty. His sister's eyes grow cold. Susan recognizes judgement when she sees it, how subtle it may be. After all, Peter had learned it from her. Everyone knows about Steven's affairs, about Susan's brilliance wasted as a housewife.

Purposefully, she sets her cup down.

“You know,” She begins. “Lucy once almost followed you.”

She lights herself another cigarette.

“To your little 'Secret base'. She tried to do it more than a couple times actually. But I always caught her sneaking off.”

Peter remains carefully silent.

“Had a good idea what the two of you were up to, anyway,” She says with sneering disgust. But Peter doesn't miss the underlying hurt.

“I'm sorry I said- “

“Just who are you to judge me when you didn't even- He was your little brother and you didn't even- !“ Emotions kill her voice and she has to turn her face away. Her hand trembles where she puts the cigarette butt to her mouth. Peter would like to reach out, touch her arm, comfort her somehow but she's too proud. Would only shrug him off.

“Why did you come back?” She asks desolate.

A thousand memories of a smiling Edmund flitter through his mind. His heart stutters painfully.

“Because I... I want to understand.”

 

When they bid their goodbyes Susan gives him a slip of paper with an address.

“You remember old Mrs. Macready? She lives there now. Visit her sometime, will you?”

 

 

 

°-°-°-°-°

 

 

 

One bone-chillingly evening close to Christmas with the snow five inches thick on the ground and still falling, falling, falling, Peter ran late. He had gone out to check their rabbit and pheasant traps and, despite having found one of each, managed to sink his feet not once, not twice, but three times in a snowed in but not quite frozen puddle.

Needless to say, his feet were ready to be cut into cubes. When finally after a last bend, their house came into view, with the cosy glow of a hot fire and smoke swirling out of the chimney, his heart swelled. Yet his stomach dropped.

They had had a fight earlier. Peter stood watching a moment longer, then huffed and walked on.

 

That morning they had had a scheduled meeting with a Calormene official to discuss trade treaties. Edmund and Peter had spend their whole time up to that meeting, talking about other things, namely improvements for their house. Upon beginning the negotiations they realized they weren't of the same opinion. At all. And, as their natures are so wont to do, they argued it quite passive-aggressively out in front of the whole court.

It was one of their lesser dignified moments.

He didn't even want to imagine what kind of impression that had on the dignitary. Here was to hoping Susan and Lucy could salvage it somehow. Although, having the two Kings fight openly was always a hard topic to quench among the population, even more so for foreign ones.

 

As soon as the session was adjourned, the Calormene hiding his smirk behind a bow, all other court members falling into conspiratorial whispers, Edmund stormed out. Peter hot on his heels. An argument or two still spilling forth heatedly. Trying unsuccessfully to bang the bedroom door into Peter's face, Edmund changed his clothes with swift, concentrated movements before walking just as determined, and stubbornly mute, to the stables. Peter behind him the whole time.

 

It was only on the ride to their house that Peter quieted down. Not calmed down, mind you. Edmund had Philip keep a swift pace and was therefore always a bit ahead of Peter and Mherri.

By the time Peter arrived Edmund was already stowing saddle and harness away. Wordlessly, and just as aggressively swift he walked past Peter, already going for the front door. Not with Peter though.

His little brother had fled long enough, he finally had him cornered.

"And one more thing- !" Peter said, simply letting go of Mherri's reins.

"No!" Edmund yelled, hands pressed on both sides of the open door frame. "No, there is not one more thing," He said and then, arms crossed defiantly, turned around. "If you want to discuss what happened at court today, you'll have to return to Cair Paravel and talk to King Edmund about it because no one like that lives here."

"That's not how this works, Ed."

"Yes, that's exactly how this is going to work. There are no Kings here."

They stared each other down for another moment.

"Fine," Peter snapped, walked past Edmund into the cottage, grabbed the hunting kit by the door and left for the forest without another word. Mherri snorted exasperated.

 

A bubble of warm air greeted him as he stepped through the door, flecks of snow falling from his boots.

Edmund was in the zinc bathtub, a new one they had only thought to bring last week. From where he stood Peter could merely make out the back of his head.

He stripped off his boots, tried to wiggle his toes and got out of coat, scarf and hat.

The water sloshed.

"Found anything?" Edmund asked.

"Hare and Pheasant," Peter answered. "Hung 'em up outside."

Edmund hummed as Peter went to the kitchen and poured himself a shot of liqueur.

"The water still hot? Need more coals?"

"Mhmh, just join me, please," Edmund said, watching him steadily. Peter stripped.

 

"Gee, you're like a popsicle."

"Stepped into some puddles."

"Puddles? How come they weren't frozen?"

"I suspect the other animals keep breaking them open for stupid humans to step in."

"Hm," Edmund made and let his hands wander over Peter's torso, making sure to push some of the water over his exposed shoulders.

It was quite phenomenal really, Peter mused, that you could be so mad with somebody and still feel so comfortably serene when you lay in their arms in a hot bath. Edmund's spread legs around him, his feet rubbing over Peter's slowly unfreezing toes and Peter's head pillowed on Edmund's chest. Home, he thought.

Then Edmund's hands found one of Peter's and he pulled it up out of the water for inspection. Turning it this way and that, prying each finger apart and running along Peter's short nails as if over hills. Finally, he flattened both their hands against each other.

"Don't you think it's funny that our hands are so different?" Edmund asked. "Even though we're brothers."

Peter shrugged. No, he'd never wondered about it.

"Your hand is bigger and your fingers a lot thicker, too. Mine are so twiggy like- "

"Your fingers are long and slender," Peter interjected, returning the inspection. "Perfect pianist's hands."

"Pianist's... hands?" Edmund mumbled and Peter locked their fingers together, dunking them back into the water.

"I used to play, didn't I?" Edmund asked, his voice still strangely faint. "Piano... "

"You were just getting good, too," Peter said. "Played longer and more complicated pieces. Beethoven, maybe. Or Bach or Schubert. I could never keep it in my head."

"Right... "

"Did you forget?"

That made Edmund still for a moment.

"No, I don't think I forgot, I just didn't remember."

The water sloshed as Peter repositioned his feet a bit, finally regaining the feeling in them. Lifting their still interlocked hands, he scratched his nose.

"It's not like you could practice, anyway. I've never seen a piano anywhere in Narnia. And I have no idea how they're built so I could commission one, either."

"That's all right," Edmund said and stretched a bit. "Are you warm?"

"Yeah, feels nice in here."

"Good," Edmund pressed a smile to the top of Peter's head and then coaxed him a bit lower so he could scoop water over his head without it running right into his eyes. He began to wash his hair. Peter didn't think he could be more relaxed, he was that short of outright moaning.

"We can't be Kings here," Edmund said then. A bit cautiously. "Or maybe we could but I just don't want us to be."

Peter kept preventively quiet.

"And in turn we can't be who were are here, there, either. Got it?"

"Sure."

"The only reason why we even ended up having a fight was because we were Edmund and Peter all week, even though we should have been King Edmund and High King Peter. It has to be clear. Edmund and Peter only exist here."

"That's not very balanced."

"Yeah, but- "

"I have to be High King every day of the week and can only be Peter during the weekends?"

"Well," Ed's hands stopped. "I guess that can't be helped."

"No," Peter sighed and turned around until they were nose to nose. "I guess not."

Then he leaned forward.

 

The snow continued to fall all through the night and next day. Eventually, they had to delay their return to when the weather allowed for safer travel. They ended up staying two weeks, all through Christmas and New Year's.

When they finally arrived back at Cair, very early in the morning, not even the stable hands were up, yet. So they took care of the horses themselves. As soon as Peter had stowed the brittle away, Edmund leaned in the doorway, arms crossed.

"I have never known our High King to be so daft, agreeing with the Calormenes on such disadvantageous conditions, you must be kidding."

Peter looked at Edmund perplexed before breaking out into a huge grin, shaking his head fondly, he advanced on Edmund.

"First you- Mmph!" Edmund protested the kiss annoyed but Peter didn't let himself be deterred and held Edmund close by the lapels.

"Didn't I say strict boundaries?" Edmund admonished.

"Now, you listen here," Peter countered. "You know exactly how easily offended the Calormenes- "

 

They argued all the way up to the wing locating their chambers where they met Lucy.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm happy you two are actually alive but are you seriously still arguing about this?!"

 

Over the years, they got pretty good at keeping those boundaries. It was much easier than expected, actually. Peter now remembers only a handful of times they had violated the rules.

 

Before the Giants had warred against them, there had been attempts for negotiations, for agreements, for peace, ultimately. Always on the Giants' lands of course, they'd been adamant in that regard and Peter reasonable. How would he host creatures ten times his size at Cair Paravel, any way?

The first visit was very agreeable. The four siblings were welcomed royally, a feast was held, entertainment provided. There was no talk of politics. The second visit was more of the same. At the third one Peter began to press for a more private audience. He was mildly but unmistakeably rebuked. Susan advised him to remain patient, so Peter postponed his next visit four times. When winter had the North in a tight grip, he returned. This time alone. Lucy, Edmund and Susan he had urged to aestivate in warmer climes.

Three weeks he had spent in Giant territory, making efforts to get to know its inhabitants and their customs. At the end of his visit a peace treaty was signed. Scarcely, two years later it would be torn apart with the death of the old King and the ascend of his dimwitted son. But for now Peter was satisfied with himself. He travelled back to Cair fast as he could. Naturally though, once arrived, a persistent cold set in.

 

It was the third miserable day in a row he had spent wallowing in bed, an armada of tissues around him, that his siblings hailed back. He was too delirious to notice much of Lucy's stories and Susan's trinkets. That damn cold was so harsh, he could feel his bones ache. Edmund stayed absent. Peter knew how little he enjoyed being around sick people. He tried not to whine about, either to his sisters and servants nor internally.

The next day the deliriousness was gone. Not the bone deep exhaustion, though. Slurping down a bowl of soup required up to three hours of sleep to recuperate. It was during one of these bouts, around the late mid hours, that someone sneaked into his bed.

Peter distinctly remembered the cold hitting his back as the blanket was lifted, the dip in the mattress that inched swiftly closer. Then he was held. Edmund's arms snaked around him and his cheek was laid atop Peter's.

“The High King's mortally sick, they've told me.”

“Urgh,” Peter made, his throat parched from open-mouthed sleeping.

“Oh dear,” Edmund sighed, his hands stroking comfortingly over Peter's chest and belly.

It was a couple of minutes like this, for Peter to reach a semi stable form of being awake. Hushed, Edmund kept humming a song, offering nothing but closeness and security.

“How was Calormene?” Peter asked eventually.

“Hmm, boring,” Edmund said. “However, I've already heard of your success with Angromm and his Giants. I must confess, we're all very impressed. Didn't think it possible for our tactless, hot-headed High King to pull off such a feat.”

Peter only grumbled faux-annoyed. Edmund's arms strengthened their hold.

“Actually,” He whispered huskily. “I had quite the reward planned.” With that his hand travelled lower, creeping past Peter's waistband.

“I can barely- barely stay awake for five minutes,” Peter uttered, feeling the tiredness clouding him from all directions. “How do you expect me to properly enjoy my reward?”

The sneaky fingers retreated, but Peter could feel a smile on his shoulder. Edmund snuggled closer.

“You know the Calormenes have made some real progress concerning medicines and healing. So naturally I went to an expert doctoress before our departure, inquiring about the best way to treat severe colds.... “

“And?” 

“Turn around for me, will you?” There was a real sly foxiness in Edmund's voice but Peter had no spare energy to preemptively guard himself.

“Like this, then?” Peter asked, sleepily taking Edmund in for the first time in however many weeks. By Aslan, still beautiful as ever. It regularly carried Peter's breath away.

Instead of answering, Edmund held Peter's face, inspecting it with gentle hands and tender eyes.

“I've missed you,” He whispered and then... then he kissed Peter.

 

He doesn't know anymore how long they stayed like that, all cuddled up, resting and restoring energy with each other, only that he kept flitting in and out of consciousness. And that he was happy. Because Edmund was with him, even though they were in Cair Paravel, even though they were supposed to be no more than brothers.

 

 

For a long time after it was over between them Peter kept wondering: What even was the point? This damn role playing. Often, he suspected that to be their ultimate demise. Because how can anyone be expected to live their life chopped up in scheduled pieces?

 

He's an idiot. Still. Always.

 

 

 

°-°-°-°-°

 

 

 

The old folk's home looks nice from the outside and less so inside. The entrance hall splits two ways, one long corridor to the right, a sign indicating the kitchens and a long bleak corridor forward. He gets waved through there. Along the walls, waist-high, are holders, interspersed by resident's rooms. There is a famous painting next to each of them. Klimt's  _The Kiss,_ Van Gogh's  _Starry Night,_ a Picasso and Vermeer and a dozen others but his art knowledge already ends there. The stink of urine intensifies now and then but he keeps his gait level. Sometimes, a little grunt or even smothered scream emits from behind a closed door, followed by the emotionless chatter of nurses who have long ceased to be troubled by it. 

To the left the recreation room comes in sight.

 

Mrs. Macready sits at a table and looks motionless out of the window, a cup of swirling steam in front of her. She looks less stern than he remembers but hasn't put on any weight, that would soften her appearance. Peter approaches.

“Mrs. Macready.”

Her movements are very composed and slightly stiff when she turns around to him.

“Mr. Pevensie,” She says, her ever serious expression makes him smile.

“Just Peter, please.”

She hums indifferently and motions for him to sit down.

“Long way from Germany just to visit an old woman.”

“I've moved back here or rather I currently am. Haven't actually found a new place, yet.”

“Staying with your sister, then?”

“A hotel.”

“She comes to see me sometimes, very nice girl. Very polite.”  
“Yeah, she told me.”

“You had two, didn't you?”

“Susan and Lucy, yes.”

“What's she doing now?”

“Oh, the latest I heard she still works for that News Network.”

“A reporter.”

“Journalist. She still lives here, too, actually. It's just she's often gone. Europe, Asia, all over the place.”

“England's not interesting enough for her, is it?”

“She always wanted to see the world.”

“Hm,” She makes and takes a sip.

“I'll bring her with me next time. Although, you must promise to be on your best behaviour. Lu's always been scared stiff of you.”  
As expected, a bark of laughter erupts from Mrs. Macready.

“Not wringing any promises out of this old mare, Pevensie.”

He laughs, too. Another resident is wheeled inside. He looks asleep to the point of comatose. Mrs. Macready throws the man an uneasy gaze.

“It's been a long time, hasn't it? Since I picked the lot of you up at the train station.” Her eyes have turned wistful and she brings the cup back to her lips.

“Yeah, it really has. Even the time I spend alone at the Professor's, it's insane that that's been over four years now.”

She doesn't answer him, seems lost in her own memories. Peter does not begrudge her that. It's the place where he spends most of his time nowadays, as well. And, he doesn't have the excuse of age.

“Would you mind taking me outside for a walk?” She asks then.

 

There are several minutes of silence between them as they're making their way over the grounds. It's mostly just grass with a red brick road. Here and there are patches of easily maintained flower and bush arrangements. Only at the far end he can see a small pond.

“I grew up in a very strict household,” She begins suddenly. “And while I never had a problem simply obeying my parents' orders my older sister Polly was very much the opposite. One summer a boy moved in next door. It was said that his mother was very sick, that's why he had to move in with his uncle and aunt. My parents thought those people were loons so they forbade us any contact with them. Polly, of course, did not care. She always sneaked off with that boy, doing God-knows-what. I snitched on her, every time. She'd get grounded and run right off again. As you might imagine, my sister and I did not get along very well,” She sighs, her voice full of childish regret. “She ended up marrying that boy and while I did go to the wedding, I made a point of being as grim and sour faced about it, as I could. If she had behaved like that on my wedding day I would have never spoken to her again. But Polly... she was too happy to care, I think. And oh that infuriated me even more! I could count on both hands the number of times we spoke to each other in the next ten odd years.”

Mrs. Macready falls so silent, Peter thinks the story must already be over. But it is only because she's steeling herself for talking about the hard part.

“My marriage was... a disaster, to say the least. I don't want to delve too deep into it, because it does not really matter and because it does not hurt me any more. We got divorced six years later. I didn't wish to go home but I also didn't have the means to finance myself. I was at a really low point. That's when my sister wrote to me. 'Come visit, Margaret. I haven't seen you in so long, little sister.' And even though I knew very well that Polly wasn't able, from the good of her heart, to gloat at someone else's misery, I detested her at that moment harder than ever before. Because, you see, no matter who I talked to, as soon as they knew I was Margaret Plummer they would start talking about Polly. Polly and her big mansion, Polly and her happy marriage. The only thing they wouldn't ever dare utter was that she could not have children. But I hadn't any either, so it wasn't like I had one up on her in that regard. As I didn't really have any other option, I eventually relented and boarded the train.” Now Mrs. Macready takes one very deep breath.

“I was shocked when I saw her. She was so thin, so brittle, her face so shrunken in, not even her bright smile, that one thing that had never changed, couldn't conceal the fact how tired and dying her body was. A couple of months, maybe a year, I was told. She didn't seem like she had more than a week left in her. Her husband was as warm and as friendly to me as ever, but I could tell how exhausted and scared he was, how overworked. I moved in. I washed and clothed and fed her, we talked and laughed and finally were able to understand each other. I took care of her. Until one very mild spring afternoon she left,” Her voice takes on a melancholy note. There sits a tear in the corner of her eye and she stops to wipe it away. Almost surprised, that she is capable of that still. Allowing grief. They arrive at the pond and sit down on a little bench.

“And from then on I took care of the house and my dead sister's husband. I decided to stay as long as he would let me. So I remained by his side as his loyal servant until he too passed away.”

 

Her hand shakes a bit when she reaches for her glasses and Peter realizes that she had loved him. She had loved Diggory Kirke and probably never told anyone her whole life.

"You were happy?" He asks toneless and she focuses back on him. "Even though he never knew? Even though you couldn't ever be with him?"

"Boy, he was not mine to have. He was always Polly's."

"But- You don't think if you had left? If you had found someone else- couldn't you have been happy then, too? And not alone... "

"I suppose I have a over-zealously loyal nature," She says. "And besides I didn't mind not having him as long as I could be by his side. Which I did for 25 grateful years."

 

They sit mutely for a while longer at the pond. Eventually, a nurse comes to collect Mrs. Macready for Tea. They say their goodbyes and Peter promises to visit again soon.

She gets up but then stops one last time.

"I wanted to give you my condolences," She says and Peter stares. "Your sister told me what happened, I'm sorry about your brother. It's an awful thing."

Ducks disturb the calm water in ripples.

"Yes," Peter echoes. "It is."

 

 

 

°-°-°-°-°

 

 

 

One early morning in crisp, cold autumn Peter was awakened very ungently. Edmund, always the early bird, had been outside already for who-knows-what forsaken reason and now, hands freezing and nose reddish, climbed back into bed. Shuffled really, his sneaky fingertips winding around Peter's middle and pressing his cold nose to Peter's face. He groaned morosely but turned around to pull Edmund much much closer, just so he could tuck the blanket tight around them. Edmund giggled quietly and kept his frozen face pressed to Peter's.

"There are geese," He said. "The whole pond is full of them. They were grey and brown and a bit white and black, too. There were so many of them I thought it's impossible they'll all find enough frogs and snails to eat. Maybe we should bring them something."

"They're just having a break," Peter mumbled. "They'll move on soon. Somewhere warmer."

"I know," Edmund said. "Next time then."

 

And he did get quite adept over the next years, being able to predict the geese's arrival and dragging the sleep-tired, overcoated Peter with him. Sitting closed off by barren bushes, guarded from being discovered, they huddled together. Edmund watching the geese and Peter watching Edmund. Eyes bright and cheeks glowing.

When the geese would fly off, eventually, Edmund stared after them into the sky, his mouth slightly open.

“Where do they go?” He asked, making it sound like a trick question.

“Somewhere warmer, I'd expect.”

Edmund's head lolled to the side, fixing Peter with his merry gaze.

“To a place where they're free to be.”

“They're birds though, right? Aren't they always free?”

Good-naturedly, Edmund rolled his eyes.

“You don't understand anything, do you?”

 

When winter really hit and the pond froze over Peter had procured ice skates. He had consulted the dwarvenfolk that lived high up in the north. Those who were well versed in building and cobbling all sorts of contractions but were not very friendly with waters, much less treacherous frozen ones. After three failed attempts to build skates merely crafted from descriptions Peter had lain out in his letters, he had to ride up there in person. Denying himself and Edmund a shared weekend. As it had been supposed to be a surprise, as well, Edmund was especially gloomy over his unexplained cancellation.

Eventually, the dwarves got the skates right. After Peter tried them out and all the dwarven children got huge eyes, he bid a hurried goodbye.

Edmund had never learned how to skate. He had been adamant his Father teach him, the way he did with Peter and Susan. But the time just hadn't ever come. Peter only hoped Edmund would accept his gift.

King Edmund, never liking to be made an ass of or getting caught not being perfect at something would have thanked Peter for the present and then retreated to learn all by himself. Only emerging once he was satisfied with his skill level.

But this Edmund here, holding onto both of Peter's hands and more stumbling than skating along did not care for such things. When he fell his cheeks didn't burn in shame but because he couldn't stop laughing at himself.

Eventually, Peter would find himself next to Edmund on the ice and, holding hands through mittens, they would lay there for a short while until Edmund was ready for his next try.

Later they would stalk home, mayhaps delayed due to an impromptu snowball fight and then Edmund would stoke the fire anew and Peter would make them hot chocolate and they would slink together under a blanket on the couch or right into bed. Only on particular cold nights they'd fill the tub and stay in it until their fingertips were all wrinkled prunes and felt funny when touched to one another.

 

In the spring Peter took up gardening again and Edmund, of course not joining in, practised his fighting skills. Sometimes, more and more often over the years, he sat with him and read adventure stories out loud. Once in a while even romance novels. Over which they would act all pretentious and snicker, yet grew quiet and afflicted when the lovers, separated for various reasons, were lamenting the other's absence.

Often they would go on walks and watch nature around them come to life more and more everyday. Always they passed the waterlily pond so Edmund could stick a finger in it, longing for the day it would finally be warm enough to swim.

 

Summer used to greet them as a surprise. One morning they'd wake up in Cair Paravel and suddenly it was there. Impatiently, they would tap their feet and drum their fingers, throwing longing glances into the distance until the week was over and they raced Philip and Mherri over the sated green pastures towards the propane blue sky.

Peter would always let Edmund win just to watch him run bare naked over the jetty and jump, arms flying, a cry of freedom erupting from his lungs, into the welcome wetness.

Peter would smile, bright and happy and hurry up to get in there himself. To dunk Edmund and be dunked in return. To kiss his watery, wet lips, the drops catching in his ever merry eyes, their feet kicking underneath.

When their stomachs started to growl, they heaved themselves onto land and let the sun dry their skin as they made their way home.

A good portion of their summer days was spent naked actually. They were out swimming almost daily, the clothes felt too stuffy, restricting, clung too much to their eager skin. Besides, no one ever came this way. And never, not once, did Peter feel shy when Edmund looked at him. If anything, it felt like the most natural thing to be looked at and touched so thoroughly. Because Edmund didn't just like exploring nature but Peter, too. Truly that time spend together made Peter the man he was. A proud, understanding man. Humble but sure in his ways. Edmund's love and acceptance of him allowed Peter to unequivocally settle in his skin, to be at home in his own body.

"I always felt like our bodies belonged together, like you and I do. I don't want them to have secrets from one another," Edmund murmured one afternoon, with the windows open and both of them dozing on top of the covers in each others arms.

 

That pond... and their little house. That was home. That was happiness. Those were his brightest memories.

But it was always too short. Never enough time. Always confined to the weekend and even then only when they could afford it.

There never seemed enough hours in the day for all the things they wanted to say or show or do to each other.

 

Like those many times they couldn't rush to the house fast enough. Breeches already unbuckled before the front door slammed close. That frantic fucking with hands and lips everywhere. Not always bothering to make the last few steps to the bed. That time Peter had Edmund draped over their first kitchen table. Pants barely shoved past buttocks and thrusting sharp and fast into Edmund. The vases and forgotten cutlery rattling until Edmund, in a moment of carelessness, send them banging to the floor. Rocking his own hips fast as Peter. The table tittered and screeched over the floor.

Then broke.

A hard thud and they were both on the ground. Edmund, with Peter still inside him, couldn't stop laughing for five minutes straight.

 

And then the serene glory of making love on slow mornings. Peter entering Edmund languidly with the occasional pause. Time to memorize the open expression on Ed's face when he had to close his eyes, flooded by pure pleasure. His breathy little moans, his slightly open mouth. His fingertips making their way over Peter's back and shoulders and arms in invisible patterns. His legs forever willing to open around him and let him in. To watch himself disappear inside Edmund, over and over again, remains the most sensual thing to him. Just the memory of it used to be enough to send him into a frenzy of lust. Leaving any task half-done to get to Edmund, wanting him so bad, needing him, having him.

"Edmund," Peter had thought tenderly and kissed every patch of skin his lips could reach. "Edmund, Edmund, Edmund."

And as if his brother had heard his call, he would pull him closer and allow Peter to fall apart. Time and time again.

 

Prone to nap afterwards, Peter had often had the opportunity to watch Edmund. Completely unguarded, to swipe away the hair from his forehead and let the tips of his fingers dance over his nose and lips.

He was happy, of course, like that. Undeniably happy. To have Edmund lie so trustingly and restful in his arms, being allowed to touch him. And yet. He always, always ached with love. Love that couldn't transcend or overcome, that couldn't make Edmund and him completely one. That left them in two bodies, in two lives. The one as brother-Kings and the one here at their little house by the waterlily pond.

But here was happiness. Here it was mostly enough.

Until it ended.

 

It took a moment. To really come to. To grasp the reality of it. The fact that it was over, that they couldn't go back. The prospect of having returned to good old, bad old England. They were  _home_ .

Impossible to say who took it the hardest. Or easiest. And what did that matter. It's not like it could be changed. The only thing they could do was wipe away the last wistful tear and move on.

So they did. And Peter tried.

 

For him it wasn't only negotiating his life as High King with the one of school kid but also about being a man versus a boy. About being a lover and being a brother.

 

He wanted to sort himself out. To see if who he was had changed. So he retreated from Edmund at first and Edmund hadn't resisted that. Peter went on a number of solitary walks and figured out he was still the same. Only his body had changed.

The fact that he woke up with a feeling of unsorted dread one day, he ignored. Likewise those days where he had the indistinct sensation that he was meant to do something. Some High-Kingly duty or something, but for the love of him he couldn't recall what that was. Then again, he had had no idea what he'd eaten his last week in Narnia, either. It seemed a common side effect, forgetting small things when travelling between the places. Edmund had forgotten about his Piano lessons, after all. With Peter it was only insignificant things. That probably didn't have to matter too much. Regardless, he wanted to talk to Edmund. Kind of...

 

Because he wasn't sure which Edmund he needed right now. It wasn't like he could talk to his fellow ruler, and his brother isn't the one he wanted to address. His lover, then?

Peter looked across the room. Edmund, in knee-high socks and suspenders, immersed in a nameless book.

Lover, he thought again. That... seemed strangely wrong.

 

Nevertheless, Peter moved onto the opposite side of the couch. The sounds of a crackling fire acting as a backdrop. It could have been a nice evening in their little house really, except... except.

He stared at Edmund for a moment, who quickly noticed and lowered his book. He didn't say anything but it was clear he had been waiting for Peter to approach.

 

"I feel lonely. In a very strange sense," Peter started.

"I know what you mean."

"However, considering our circumstances I don't think we can go back to how it was at... "

"At home?" Edmund sounded slightly accusatory.

"We're children here, we can't just go and leave for days just to be with one another. It can't work."

"So that's the problem? It's not that you don't want me any more, you just don't think it's gonna work because the risk of people finding out is higher? You don't want us to split?"

Peter took an indecisive breath. His fingertips crept towards Edmund's socked feet in front of him. He followed the lines of Edmund's toes for a moment, then took his hand away and looked at Edmund helplessly. His brother held his gaze, intently searching for the meaning to words Peter couldn't articulate.

"All right, then."

"All right, then?" Peter asked but Edmund didn't say anything else for the rest of the night, going back to his book.

 

In the morning Peter woke up to a dip in his mattress. Edmund sat inches away.

"We just need new rules," He declared.

Peter, a hand going through his hair, sat up against the backrest.

"Were you up all night thinking about this?"

"We need new little things, rituals. Like good night kisses."

"Good night kisses?"

"Yes, we can't reasonably share beds any more but we're still sharing rooms and before we go to bed each night, I want a kiss," He said. "In the mornings, as well. First thing. Even before saying 'Good morning'."

Not being able to help it Peter smiled.

"And the rest of the day? We're just brothers?"

"Yes, since that really can't be helped but- Whenever possible we'll try to get the house to ourselves and there are no limits or rules then."

"No," Peter disagreed. "That sounds way too risky. One of the others could always come back early or friends coming by unexpectedly!"

"I know that but it has to be!"

"Why?"

"Because kisses won't be enough," Edmund said confidently.

Peter made a face.

"I really- "

Edmund lunged forward. His lips pressed to Peter's. There was a fraction of a second where Peter was annoyed and then realized how long it's been and then his body took over as it had done a thousand times before. His hand landed in Edmund's silky hair, pulling him closer, his mouth opened and Peter met him there. A moan escaped and Peter's hand wandered down Edmund's back until it came to his tiny waist and tried to pull their crotches together.

Edmund wrestled himself free.

"See?" He said, breath laboured.

But Peter wasn't in the mind to agree. Or disagree. If Edmund hadn't stopped the kiss, Peter would have, mere seconds later. It was meant to feel natural, touching him, it always did before. His body was still so attuned to Edmund's and yet- This was not him. And Peter had no words to explain it. He probably just needed a bit more time.

 

So they tried it that way. And it worked. For a while. Until, four months back in England, they got the house to themselves for the first time.

“Bye, drive carefully!” Peter waved to their departing family. 

Susan and Lucy were in need of new clothes before school started. Yesterday, Edmund had spent all dinner persuading their Dad to go along. Naturally, everyone was very suspicious of his motives. In the end their Father relented, humorously making Peter promise to have a close eye on his scheming little brother.

If only you knew, Dad. If only you knew.

Peter watched them drive off before, heart heavy, he closed the door to the outside world.

“So,” Edmund said and smirked triumphant.

“So,” Peter echoed, hiding his unease beneath a smile. 

“What do you want to do?”

“I don't know. What do you want to do?”

“How about... watching the telly?”

That conjured a genuine smile from Peter. So, Edmund was hiding behind his smirk, as well.

“That sounds great.”

A relieved expression ran over his little brother's face.

“I'll go make the popcorn and you'll find a channel,” He called, already dashing off.

 

Peter kept turning the button until he had found something he knew Edmund loved. Then he rearranged himself on the sofa. Close enough to the side, so they could keep a reasonable distance and close enough to the middle, so Edmund didn't think Peter tried to keep any. Should he get the blanket, too? Even with the heater on the living room could be kinda chilly. But with the concealed limbs Edmund's sly brain could get dangerous ideas.

“Laurel and Hardy!” He exclaimed delighted, jumping over the couch's backrest and landing next to Peter.

Miraculously, the popcorn had remained inside the bowl. Peter threw a handful in his mouth.

“They're rerunning the best ones,” He waggled his eyebrows.

“Awesome,” He grinned, already transfixed by the action. “Pass the blanket, will you?” 

Peter hesitated a second but Edmund didn't pay him any attention. He grabbed for it on the armchair, unfolded and offered it to Edmund, who promptly threw it over both of them. Then he settled in. Back snugly into the couch, bowl balanced in his cross-legged lap. His shoulder, his knee and part of his thigh were warm against Peter. This would be fine. Absolutely dandy. Peter began to relax.

 

Witty commentary just flew from their lips, the bowl of popcorn shook dangerously more than once because of their unending bouts of laughter, elbows got stuck into ribs and glasses of soda almost kicked off the table. Two hours they spent laughing, sharing space and simple intimacies.

When the Marathon came to a close and Edmund switched the telly off, the atmosphere sobered up accordingly. It wasn't uncomfortable, though. There was no leaden tension in the air. Just two people, who knew each other entirely.

“Wanna lay down for a while?” Peter asked into the quiet room.

Under the blanket, Edmund's hand found his.

 

“I missed this,” Edmund whispered.

They had rearranged themselves into a tangle of limbs. Edmund's nose pressed to Peter's throat, his mouth vibrating across his collarbone, his hands warm against Peter's chest, their legs hopelessly intertwined.

Instead of responding, Peter pressed Edmund closer, inhaling the scent of his hair deeply.

 

“ _I love you, Pete, I love you, I love you, I love you.”_

_Those were the first words Peter heard when he had awoken from that head-injury induced stupor._

“ _Wake up, please, just wake up.”_

“ _Argh,” He moaned. Everything ached. His eyelids fluttered strained. Then Edmund was there. His hands gripping Peter's tightly, his face was white, but his cheeks flushed. At least, he hadn't cried. That was good. Peter would have hated to have made him cry._

“ _Peter?” His shaky voice reached his ears full of empathy._

_A grin broadened over Peter's face._

“ _I knew it,” He smiled smugly. “Always knew you were crazy about me.”_

“ _What?”_

“ _Can't get enough of me, can you? No wonder. I'm the magnificent after all. How could you possibly resist someone as handsome as me.”_

_Edmund groaned in response. He cupped Peter's face in his hands and touched their foreheads together._

“ _I can't believe you sometimes.”_

_Peter kept smiling, even when Edmund dropped a kiss to his lips, even when he fell back asleep._

 

“Me too!” Lucy screamed and landed heavily on top of her brothers. Peter's pulse jumpstarted into overdrive. He pushed Edmund forcefully from him, effectively catapulting him against the couch table.

“Ow,” He muttered offended. A rosy colour stained his cheeks.

“My, oh my, I don't think I've seen the two of you so close since you were toddlers,” Their mother laughed merrily. 

Peter sat up, mortified, hiding it through tickling Lucy. In the background he could hear their Father snicker. Edmund, still rubbing his head from where it had collided with the couch table, slunk away inconspicuously. Leaving Peter to fumble for insufficient explanations.

 

_You're a good liar._

_You're an even better one._

 

At least, Peter now understands the strange expression he had seen on Susan's face back then.

 

The next day Peter woke up an hour before his alarm. He watched Edmund for the longest time. Sleeping worriless on his side of the room. As soon as he heard their mother getting up, he went for the shower. He headed out before Edmund could wish him a good morning.

 

“You forgot something earlier today,” Edmund mentioned as he came into the room. Hair still wet, but already in his PJ's. He smiled benignly and sat on Peter's bed, who was reading a book.

“Oh yeah, I- “

But Edmund already leant forward. Peter kissed back perfunctory. Edmund severed the contact between them. Before Peter could even begin to attempt an explanation, Edmund kissed him again. Harder, this time, with more intent. Peter closed his eyes. Then he tasted Edmund's tongue, minty from the toothpaste.

“Night,” He breathed out over Peter's tingling lips.

 

That way the year dwindled away. The smiley lingering morning smooches turned into quick, routinely pecks and the smouldering, pressing-you-into-walls or you-climbing-into-my-lap kisses of the night lessened to dry slides of lips that didn't even really pucker any more. The times when either of them forgot their 'tradition' amassed quietly. In the beginning Edmund would still make those up at a later point. But it began to happen more frequently. There were constantly other things on their minds. Plans with friends and school work, mostly. Also, there were four other members in their family, who demanded a share of their attention every day. And Narnia seemed so distant, a hazy dream. At some point it was over two weeks since they shared a kiss and Peter didn't think he was the only one who didn't notice.

Edmund decided on confrontation. It took about two minutes to develop into a yelling match.

 

“So what you want me to bend you over and just take you?!”

“It would be a start!” Edmund screamed exasperated, then a bit more softly. “And of course, I want you.”

"You have to understand my side, as well. What am I supposed to do? Things can't be that way between us again."

"Because you think I'm too young?"

"You ARE too young!" Peter said annoyed. "Do you even have a sex drive, yet? You think it's fun for me to be a teenager again?"

"Then why is it that all we ever do is cuddle?!"

Peter stared his brother down for a moment longer. He noticed how tense his jaw was, how hard he was breathing. He stroked through his hair once and let out a slow, calming puff.

"You know what I think about in school every day, or really just when I'm around any group of people, at all?”

Edmund didn't raise to the bait, just kept his mouth in a stubborn closed line.

“All I think about is sliding my hand up girls' skirts or into my classmate's pants but when I look at you... I just- don't feel that. At all. You're a child, Ed. My little kid brother."

The annoyed pout forming thereupon on Edmund's face only supported Peter's sentiment. Unwavering, he met Edmund's gaze until he huffed fed-up and stormed out.

 

He didn't give up, though.

Scarcely two weeks later, both their tempers cooled off, they found themselves alone. Without Peter noticing, Edmund had arranged for them to have the house all to themselves for an entire weekend. As always, Peter found himself closing the door after the others had left. He didn't any longer know if it was for stalling or had already become a routine to ease his unease. Edmund came up behind him. With his small frame his head barely reached to the middle of Peter's back. Soon, he'd be in full fledged puberty, growth spurt hitting him hard but not yet. Not yet.

“I've got a surprise,” He smiled, his hand finding Peter's.

 

Turned out that Edmund had shoved their beds together. Presumably, to make more room or create more of an aura of cosy comfort. But two twins together only create a gap through the middle, hardly ideal. Funny now, that he had thought of Germans in that instant. Or maybe it's not funny, at all.

Fingers still securely entwined, Edmund led Peter onto the mattress. The room felt warm, a bit too warm, actually. Maybe he wanted to simulate the heat of an open fire. The artificial smell hung heavy in the air. Yet, Peter shivered coldly.

Edmund climbed into his lap. His eyes hooded, his movements deliberate. For a boy his age such behaviour seemed ludicrous. Peter had to remind himself to see past that. But how? How?

Slowly, Edmund's fingers snaked under Peter's shirt. The contact with his skin, made his eyes close and he thought,  _Right, like this, exactly like this_ . 

Without his shirt, Edmund could see Peter's nipples were already pebbled. He only hoped Edmund wouldn't read too much into it. Keeping his eyes tightly closed, Peter felt the tips of Edmund's finger run over his body. If he concentrated on it he could see the intent look Edmund used to sport whenever he explored the skin and ridges and protruding bones of him.

“Hey, still there?” Edmund asked impishly into his ear.

In lieu of an answer Peter hauled him in around the neck and crashed their lips together. This still worked, too. As long as he didn't focus too much on the small differences. This mouth had always welcomed him so warmly and energetically.

“Finally,” Edmund mumbled in between and lightly pulled on Peter's hair. 

Peter felt a grin break up their kisses. In a swift movement Edmund got out of his own shirt. And ah, Peter shouldn't have opened his eyes.

The unmistakeable body of a boy greeted him. Wiry arms, scrawny chest, he could literally see all of his rips, even the stomach looked wispy. Anything happening in Peter's pants a mere moment ago, deflated instantly.

Edmund didn't seem to notice a change and charged right back into making out. Peter allowed it, his hands holding onto Edmund's back. How tiny and breakable he felt, even there. Where did the strong shoulders go that carried an injured High-King half a mile off the battlefield, his sturdy arms, wielding swords as elegantly as a quill, his powerful chest erupting into roars of battle and yells of delight, the taut stomach contracting in laughter and right before an orgasm, where did all those muscles go. They haven't build up, yet, he reminded himself, all that is past.

A hand landed on his crotch.

“Looks like someone still needs some persuasion,” He grinned into Peter's cheek. Deftly enough, he was unzipped and a small, warm hand worked his limp cock.

“Ed,” Peter said. “We don't have to- “

“Don't,“ Edmund interjected, his grip short of being painful. “Don't even think of saying that.”

“All right, okay,” Peter said and dipped back into heated kissing. He could do this. Just keep your eyes closed, man.

 

Eventually, they found themselves both naked and horizontal. Despite minor hiccups Peter's erection had mostly remained. He was relaxed, too. He figured that when he let Edmund do most of the work he even found moments of enjoyment. For his part he kept his hands close by Edmund's face, concentrating mainly on their tireless kissing.

But then Edmund bend his leg and Peter heard the night stand drawer open.

_I really wanted to go all the way, I hope that's okay._

“No,” Peter pushed out, his eyes open, hand clamped around Edmund's extended wrist.

Edmund's gaze was startled for a second. Carefully, he retracted his hand, lube securely in his grip.

“Don't worry,” He said. “I know my body's still too small to take you. It's not what I had in mind.”

Peter took a couple of steadying breaths. His erection had flagged off, once more.

“What-,” He rasped. “What were you thinking of then?”

“I want you to fuck my thighs,” He said.

 

Up till that moment Peter had steadfastly refrained from looking at Ed's dick. He knew he wouldn't be able not to compare. But keeping his eyes closed wasn't an option any longer. Not with Edmund laying like this. Sprawled on his back, hands moving up and down his inner thighs, making them wonderfully slick. Peter was just glad Edmund hadn't asked him to do that.

His crotch was still entirely hairless. But his balls had dropped already and his dick was capable of an erection. Small mercies. Neither Peter nor Edmund himself could touch him there, though.

“I'll literally come,” Edmund had warned him off earlier. “Won't take two seconds.”

Well, that's the way it was with a prepuberty dick. Peter himself, then at 16, hadn't much hope of lasting longer than a couple of minutes either. Gone were the days of their marathon-fucking. Gone was Edmund's dick. That wonderful, beautiful beast of a cock. Oh how Peter had loved it.

Feeling the weight of it securely in his hand, licking the drop of precum right from the slit, Edmund writhing helplessly. Taking him deep down into his throat, his nose pressed into the nest of pubic hair, the scent making his mouth water all the more, Edmund screaming and pulling at Peter's hair.

And then there was this and Peter knew- he knew that was technically the same dick, just smaller, not fully developed, and yet.

It was a blessing then when Edmund clamped his thighs together. He rubbed them along each other, tested his work and grinned satisfied.

“All right,” he announced and lifted his feet up. “Here, come closer, so I can put them over your shoulder.”

No sooner said than done, Peter inched right up to Edmund's butt and Edmund flung his knees over Peter's right shoulder.

“Now put your arms round my thighs. Go as hard as you want.”

“All right, just- just a second, okay?”

“Sure,” Edmund answered, sounding pleased as be with himself.

But Peter's erection hadn't filled in again, so blocked from Edmund's sight, he furiously tried to wank himself back to hardness.

He tried to think of any of their especially great sessions. The super heated and hurried and kind of rough ones, all animalistic, base, carnal desire.

Unwittingly though, their first time forced itself to the forefront of his mind. Other moments followed. Tender ones. Loving ones.

 

_It feels like I've waited for this forever._

_Our bodies belong to each other like you and I do. I don't want them to have any secrets from each other._

_I love you, Pete. I love you, I love you, I love you._

 

“What's taking you so long, the- ?” Edmund had moved his upper body to the side so he could see Peter's face. The look of mischief, instantly transformed to worry. His legs slid off. He sat up and took Peter's crying, miserable face into his hands.

“Hey, what happened, what's going on?” He asked concerned.

“I love you so much, I swear I do, but I can't-, “Peter sobbed. “I can't do it, I'm sorry.” 

Ed pulled him into a tight embrace, hands reassuringly stroking over Peter's back.

“Shh, it's okay. Everything's all right.”

But Peter had caught that desperate look of realization on Edmund's face just before it was pressed to his neck and he knew nothing was.

 

A while later when Peter had calmed down again and Edmund had cleaned himself up, they were lying under the blanket together. Dressed and only their hands touching, but together.

“What now?” Peter asked quietly.

“We'll stop,” Edmund decided. “For now.”

“You mean- ?”

“No more kisses, no more cuddles.”

Peter stared at Edmund for a long while, their thumbs idly stroking over the other's hand.

“I'm sorry.”

“Me too.”

 

That day they decided to drop their roma ntic relationship for the time being.

It was hard but not harder than they could endure.

 

It estranged them, though. Turned out a three year gap and not a kingdom to rule together left them with few things in common. As their interests scarcely overlapped so did the time spend together. That's not to say Peter didn't miss him. He did, profusely, often at night. But they each had their groups of friends, club activities and school events, that missing feeling was slowly drowned out. Memories began to feel very, very distant, unimportant in the urgent now of every youth.

Also, for Peter there was that small thing named 'girls'. They flocked to him. He supposed it was mainly because of his grown-up aura that still surrounded him. Unlike his peers he didn't know awkwardness towards the opposite sex. With all his lifetime experience, he was naturally above that. He looked at boys, too, of course. But for some reason, he couldn't always immediately discern, it left a sour imprint in the back of his head.

Two years had gone by since the wardrobe. In another year Peter would be done with school, start college and be legally an adult. He couldn't wait.

Unlike him Edmund seemed content at being a child again. Puberty had finally begun to hit, his voice and body changing. But his attitude didn't. Peter didn't see much of him at school actually, but sometimes he would hear stories. Mostly, about some prank he had pulled. Never of any girls, though, as if he wasn't interested. No mean rumours about him and other boys either. A part of him wondered what was wrong with his little brother, another was strangely pleased.

Then one day Peter went out with a girl.

 

Granted, he was more or less tricked into doing it. A friend of him had needled and whined to go to town with him, to see a movie. Now Peter hadn't been particularly interested but he gave in eventually. Arriving at the cinema, Ben's girlfriend and one of her friends had just so happened to be there, too. He recognized the girl vaguely from one of their other outings. But it had been a big group of people at the time so he hadn't bothered to get to know her. Apparently though, she wouldn't have minded. Easily, it was decided for the four of them to see the film together, so they got in line. Ben and Anna wasted no time connecting themselves at each other's hips and to start slobbering. Peter and Jennifer laughed awkwardly and stroke up a conversation. She was very cute and very pretty.

When they got to debating about which snacks to get, the door to a showing opened and a group of laughing boys emerged. Edmund among them. He and his mates were still reeling from whatever movie they had just seen, throwing arms around and making faces. They looked like the most immature school kids.

Then Edmund looked in his direction and his face blinked to neutral as their gazes met. Suddenly, Jen's hand was in his face.

“Sorry, you had some lint there,” She laughed, sniping it away. “Now have you decided what you'd like?”

“Definitely anything but the salty popcorn,” Edmund appeared. “Can't stand it. Gets awfully sick from it and we don't want him to puke all over your lovely dress, do we?”

Bewildered, she looked at the intrusion.  
“Jen, this is my little brother Ed,” Peter introduced without a smile. “And Ed, is leaving,” He said pointedly.

Instead, Edmund stretched a hand out.

“That's short for Jennifer, yes?” He asked. She giggled amused and gave her own.

Edmund promptly, led it to his lips.

“What are charming creature you are.”

Behind them Edmund's buddies broke out in snickers and hoots. Jen's cheeks went brightly red.

“Come on, Ed,” Peter shoved coldly at his shoulder. “Your little friends are waiting.”

A last disdainful look and Edmund was gone.

 

The film must have been pretty funny judging by all the people around him laughing. But Peter could hardly concentrate on it. That feeling just now in the lobby, he had never felt like that before. No wait, he had. Just once. That first time they had had the house to themselves and had fallen asleep together. When he woke up to their snickering family he had felt the same. It was like a wave of freezing heat washing over his body.

Sitting in the dark, illuminated only by some mediocre film he hadn't cared to see in the first place, sitting next to a girl he had no interest in and spending time with a friend, that come graduation would disappear from his life without being missed once, he felt it again, that wave.

Shame.

He had been ashamed to be seen with his brother, with Edmund,  _his_ Edmund. He had valued these irrelevant people over his love. What an unforgivable betrayal. How on earth could it have come so far? How did things become so wrong?

And then he remembered. Peter had never chosen to come back here. This hadn't meant to be his life, at all. Edmund and him were supposed to always be together. And would have been if they hadn't been ripped apart by circumstances beyond their control. Because now, they were barely even talking to each other. Wasting time with meaningless people.

 

Just like that, the anger started. A rage born of the justified sense of unfairness and nurtured persistently. Peter began to strike out against a world he didn't want.

Violence became his new currency. Kisses and hugs were exchanged for kicks and punches. Incredibly enough, that made it more bearable. He could tell himself Edmund would never abandon him, no matter how low and insignificant he became. If the only way the world would allow him and Edmund to be together was by ripping it apart, so it'd be.

 

All of a sudden, they were thrown back.

 

The Narnian air swirled around them, billowing through clothes and hair. Peter took great lungfuls, already feeling a change come upon him. It was like putting your favourite pair of jeans on, fitting so well, they felt like a second skin. His bones cracked and shifted as they accommodated themselves in a body that finally fit again.

He saw it on his siblings too. How their spines straightened, their shoulders opened up, as if they had been forced to crouch for too long. They donned Narnian attire, took up weapons and shields. The four monarchs shed the illusion of smallness and stood proud once more. Peter dimpled a bright laugh at Edmund. Everything made perfect sense again.

Except for why they had returned, they definitely needed to find out about that. Lucy was right. So they marched on, met Trumpkin and Caspian, Glenstorm and Reepicheep, met their new destiny. They hadn't just been allowed to return, they were called for aid, Aslan had let them come back to fulfil their duties. Naturally then, Peter devoted himself to a hundred things each day demanding his attention. But that was fine, he was the High King, after all. His siblings didn't slack off either.

In the distance though, in the distance he could hear the call of geese shouting for home and a pond full of blooming waterlilies.

 

Nevertheless, Miraz and everything he stood for was more important now. Peter found himself in a jam. It seemed so ludicrous on one side, because he knew how young and outright boyish he must look to Miraz but Peter hardly saw him as an equal. The honour and sense of duty that Peter had experienced and cultivated on his way to become a man was entirely missing from his opponent. Miraz was a small man with a small mind and even smaller achievements. He was but a worm writhing in the mud compared to Peter and his siblings. Their legacy loomed high over all of them, even the siblings themselves.

That thought made Peter's savage heart beat furiously, lusting for battle and glory, for Edmund to be by his side. He remembered now. The things they promised to each other in the night, the things they had done that had made them truly become men.

Why he had reverberated to beat up his peers. Because no grown man would take him serious. But here was one who couldn't escape him, someone to act his revenge upon, who would taste defeat on the tip of Rhindon, the sword of the Highest of Kings. He would spill this man's blood to its final drop. Peter would do anything now to reclaim his rightful place, for Edmund and him to bridge the vast distance between them.

 

The fight took more out of him than he anticipated. He was too cocky. Edmund used to tell him that again and again. Between the two of them, it was what ultimately made Edmund the better swordsman. He was more level-headed, more reasonable at picking his battles. So now Peter had no choice but to defeat the pesky enemy in the face of Edmund, to prove him wrong, to have that exasperated smile directed at him. But then his shoulder got dislocated and Edmund touched him. It was like a veil unravelled from his senses. Clear-headed, Peter returned to the match.

 

He won, in the end. Retaining his sense of mercy in the last seconds. Therefore, he left the glorious part to Caspian. It was but a trifle to him really. Peter's blood was still ringing in his ears, all he wanted right now was to find and pursue King Edmund. A distant echo thrummed through his body, a kiss in the morning and for the night, he had many to make up.

 

But battle prevailed and so he returned to duty.

 

After the fighting was done and they knelt before great Aslan, Peter remembered, his head cleared from blood and lust craze, slamming back down to the harsh ground of reality.

He couldn't just take Edmund back like a common mistress, he had to reinstate his devotion, woo him. All his senses were focused on his brother's presence next to him, he barely listened to what Aslan told them. He'd regret that later because Aslan would want to talk a lot in the upcoming days.

 

That night Peter had to refrain from seeking Edmund out, to slip through the protection of night into his room. Because he was well aware it was mainly a bodily wish that was not at all whatsoever rooted in rationale. So simply attacking him with his found again, never ending well of love would be stupid. He needed to have a plan of action, to figure out where exactly he wanted Edmund and him to end up.

Between that thought, Caspian's inauguration, and counselling with Aslan, Edmund and him didn't spend any time together, at all.

 

Then Aslan disclosed to them that Peter and Susan were done. He could see the heartbreak and not understanding in Susan's eyes. But Peter had already known, deep down in his heart he had known this would be the case and actually... that was fine. He was ready to move on. With Edmund by his side. As soon as Aslan dismissed them, he made to find his brother.

 

“Lu? Have you seen Ed? I can't find him anywhere.”

“He rode out, I think.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, not too long ago, though I have no idea where to, sorry.”

It didn't matter, Peter had already an inkling. He hurried to the stables.

 

The scenery along the way made it impossible to reassure him he was on the right track. But it was the same as before with Beruna. It looked different but felt the same, he knew he was on his way home. Nearer and nearer to that place of lost love and tranquillity.

Funny, that that didn't make his heart drop then. That he would actually believe his home would somehow be exempt from the changes of one thousand three hundred years.

It wasn't funny, though. No, not funny, at all.

 

When he reached the place, the first thing he saw was a horse grazing idly. Ten feet away stood Edmund, motionless in a wide empty field.

Peter unseated. At least the grass was as soft beneath his feet as it had always been. He passed the horse, a gush of wind swept through his brother's hair.

"It's gone," Edmund said toneless. "It's all gone. The house, your vegetable patch, the swing, and the stables, even the pond, it's all gone.”

Peter heard the hitch in his breath and his feet dragged him forward.

“It's like it never- "

He captured Edmund's mouth in his. Yanking him around and close with strong hands. Edmund submitted, his feeble hands scrambled at Peter's chest. They dropped to the ground. Peter's hands hastened so they could cup Edmund's face. Keeping him close and safe and near. Kissing his quivering mouth and soothing the grief from his skin.

The problem was you never knew. You never knew that the last time was- but here with Edmund shaking beneath him and his hot tears singeing Peter's fingers where he caught them, it was real. It was all real.

Their hips and cocks rocked and ground on each other. Hopelessly, hopelessly. Their hands fisted tight in shirts and pants. Peter feared his fingers would snap and break if he tried to ease off. Then Edmund's tear streaked face emitted hitches of breaths and for a second he seemed to struggle against something unbearable. He came. And it was such a pure release, Peter was glad his eyes were open to witness it. Then Edmund searched for his mouth and Peter felt his hand close around his dick. He kept rutting between Edmund's spread legs and with the assistance of a hand he released, too.

It was a long time before Edmund's breathing evened out and Peter dared to let go. The ride back was complete silence.

 

They'd been back two weeks and Peter had waited long enough. It was time to take the initiative. He spotted Edmund wading through the crowd of students, as always a flock of his friends around him. Unperturbed, Peter walked right at him. One of the boys, launched in a story, was walking backwards, all the better to gesticulate, and promptly bummed into Peter. Undoubtedly about to let out a smartass reply the boy thought better of it when he realized who stood in front of him. Peter ignored him.

“Hey,” He said, eyes heavy on Edmund.

“Hey,” Edmund replied not returning the gaze. His little entourage began shuffling off again and Peter used the opportunity to slip a wad of paper into Edmund's hand.

 

_Come meet me in room 205? I've got a free period. We need to talk._

 

Peter was picking chips off a damaged corner of a desk when Edmund came in.

“I've got maybe ten minutes, so what is it?”

Peter's brow furrowed. But he slid off the table regardless. Edmund moved away from him and leaned against the wall.

“I just... “ Peter scuffed the heel of his shoe against the floor. “I just wanted to see you. We haven't had time to ourselves since- “

“Don't- “ Edmund interjected, his face distorted into a pained grimace. “Don't talk about that, please.”

Peter levelled a confused gaze at Edmund but he resolutely kept his face averted. Peter advanced. Edmund didn't try to elude him but Peter saw how tense he was. He settled his hand on Edmund's shoulder, thumb against his neck.

“Look at me, Ed,” He said quietly, pleadingly.

His brother let out a long breath before slowly turning his face up.

“I wish you wouldn't use that voice on me.”

“I wish you wouldn't avoid me.” A relenting little smile pulled at Peter's lips. Edmund held his gaze for a while. The seriousness never leaving his eyes.

“And I wish we wouldn't have slept together again.”

The joy fell from Peter's face like his hand off of Edmund's shoulder. It was like a punch to the gut.

"I know I've been... distant before but- "

"There is no but, the truth is the circumstances haven't changed, have they? I think it's best if we... for the time being, wait. Like we decided. There's no use trying to create something where there's no space for it."

It cut off Peter's heartbeat. How final those words sounded. Final, when all he felt was confident and full of prospects. The last time it was anything but voluntary to leave their life behind. He couldn't get used to the idea of starting fresh in England. He had been too preoccupied of denying what they had lost, of being angry and scared. Scared of this world and that they wouldn't stand a chance against it. That their devotion to one another would crumple in the face of reality. It nearly had.

But he knew better now. Loving Edmund the way he had already always done, wanting him so much he felt like dying, that hadn't diminished a day. Hiding that wasn't an obstacle or a sacrifice. The circumstances didn't matter. He only never wanted to see Edmund so desperate and lost again. Standing all alone in a wide, empty field of grass.

And he wasn't. He looked unflinching and determined ahead.

Peter took a step back.

"Do you love me?" He asked quietly.

Edmund looked up and gave Peter the strangest gaze before it softened. Slowly, he nodded and looked twice the man Peter felt.

He thought about reaching out again, about asking what he had actually meant to. But Edmund murmured an excuse and left.

 

 

 

_°-°-°-°-°_

 

 

 

_Will you marry me?_

It had been on the tip of his tongue. He wonders now if he had been man enough to ask would it have changed anything. Would things be different if only he had told Edmund about this? Even after they had been done.

I wanted to ask you to marry me, that day we met in that classroom and we have completely separate lives now but I still want to because I still want you.

Peter dunks completely into the hot bathwater in his hotel's bathroom. His lungs ache horribly when he finally comes up for air again.

He still can't do it.

 

 

 

°-°-°-°-°

 

 

 

The car door bangs shut and Peter is met with sweet, flowery perfume and a bright smile.

“It's good to see you, big bro,” Lucy hugs him over the handbrake.

“You look great,” He says, eyes her a moment longer and then shifts the car into gear.

 

“So where exactly are we going?”

“Dover, I was thinking,” He replies, throws a quick glance at Lucy, who sifts through the glove compartment. It's a rented car, she won't find much besides flyers and ads. Certainly, no candy. He grins. With a little huff she closes it and puts sunglasses on.

“What do you wanna go to Dover for?”

“I figured it'd be nice, strolling along the harbour, eating ice cream. Enjoying the wind and the sea.”

Unexpectedly, she chuckles.

"You always liked it," She remarks.

"What?"

"Great bodies of water."

 

The drive down takes a little over two hours. He prefers the scenic routes these days. Lucy talks mostly. A lot about her work, upcoming projects, reviews on her articles and such. Peter listens gladly. Music and radio hosts fill the big silences in between.

 

The car parked and ice cream purchased they walk along the harbour. The wind is mellow and the sun relaxed, making the sea glitter tranquil. A ferry comes in releasing dozens of people onto mainland. Lucy probably isn't aware but Peter was supposed to be on one of them six months ago.

They're leaning against the railing. Lucy, slow with her ice cream, watches the people and Peter, hands empty, watches the sea but thinks of Edmund.

“Would you tell me about the last time?” He asks. 

Lucy quietly studies him for a moment.

“You never wanted to know before,” She prompts, pops the last of the cornet into her mouth and turns away from the masses.

“We got sucked in through a painting in Uncle Harold's attic. We surfaced in the Great Eastern Sea and got picked up by Caspian and his crew of the Dawn Treader. Three years had passed and Caspian was a good King and had a beard... “

 

At some point they start walking again, leaving the imminent harbour behind and getting onto a hiking trail. Lucy never ceases her telling and Peter doesn't interrupt with any questions. He sees a lot in his inner mind and takes scarcely of the nature around him in.

 

“... so Reepicheep decided to set sail, leaving for Aslan's country. And as for Eustace, Edmund and me... well we were back here. Edmund and me for good. But I'm sure you already knew that. Eustace' been back, though. For now everything seems to be just as it should, well- “ She trips over her last words.

Aslan's country... Peter had forgotten about its existence.

“Didn't Caspian want to go? See his father and mother again?”

“Of course he wanted to. But it wasn't his time, yet.”

They continue their way in silence, both in melancholic contemplation. The sea remains glittering at their side.

“Was Edmund- I mean... how was he? While you were there?”

“I know what you're asking but there wasn't anything. I mean of course he changed a bit, we all did but not... “ Lucy searches for the right words. “I don't think anything relating to Narnia had any influence on... on what happened. But there was something very serious and grave about him for a while, even before Narnia I mean, and once we had returned it was like it had settled inside Edmund somehow. Like he had made a decision, you know?”

Peter doesn't answer her and soon they are back at the car.

 

Another two hours later and he's pulling into an empty parking spot in front of Lucy's flat. He kills the engine and turns to her with a smile. But when he sees the troubled stare at her fingers, his cheery thank you and goodbye dies in his lungs.

“I was always a bit jealous. Of Edmund. Because you liked him so much better. I used to think it was so unfair. Since we were so alike I figured you ought to like me more. Especially, because you and Edmund were so different. In honestly every way and I thought that's why you always fought too. And I didn't- I didn't, didn't, didn't understand. They're so different! I kept thinking. Why does Peter like him so much better than me!”

Lucy swallows and Peter has a smile hiding in the corner of his mouth. He remembers wondering that too, on more than one occasion. But he also remembers becoming aware of those differences and learning to cherish them.

"But after all this time I think I get it now. That it was all your differences that pulled you towards one another. You laughed a lot and fought a lot and- “ Abruptly her voice cuts off. “You don't seem whole any more, Pete. You seem wounded."

 

_Peter lay dozing in their canopy swing. It'd been a particularly lazy weekend for both of them. The hot air clinging stubbornly to every breathing, living thing. He missed having shades. With sunglasses he wouldn't have to squint at the figure emerging in the distance. Edmund, obviously returning from a dip in the water, strolled absent-mindedly towards their house. Whistling and enjoying nature around him, he wasn't aware of being observed. When he did notice though, he stopped in his tracks, shielded his eyes, all the better to make out Peter with, and smiled. Oh, that smile._

 

“ _Fancy meetin' you here,” Edmund said coquettishly._

“ _C'mere,” Peter rumbled and pulled Edmund on top of him._

 

_Fifteen minutes later, sated and still, Edmund had his chin propped up on Peter's chest._

“ _Your hair's gotten longer,” He remarked, swirling a blond strand around his finger._

“ _Well, yours is short.”_

“ _Last summer mine was longer and yours was short. Do you suppose we do it on purpose?”_

“ _Do what on purpose? Cut our hair?”_

“ _No, alternating, I mean. When yours is long, mine's short. And when mine's long, yours' short. Do we do that on purpose without noticing?”_

“ _Now how would that be possible? Doing something on purpose without knowing.”_

_In lieu of an answer, Edmund merely shrugged and turned his face away, pressing his ear to Peter's beating heart._

 

Lucy was right in her observation, though. Edmund and him were complete opposites, especially noticeable in the most mundane ways. Peter the late sleeper and Edmund the early bird. Peter preferring to take a shower in the mornings and Edmund in the evenings. Even the order in which they got dressed was distinct. Peter starting with his lower body and Edmund with his upper. As a child Edmund had been plagued by buttons done up askew. In an effort to solve this exasperating annoyance he'd simply begun buttoning his shirts from the waist up, unlike Peter who had never had such troubles and buttoned like any normal person from the collar down.

Ingredients Peter did not particularly like he ate first, just to get them out of the way. Edmund, not shy of outright demonizing certain vegetables, saved them for last, always trying to fork them off to someone else.

Edmund was witty, cruel with words. Peter intimidated with poise and physical presence. Tenderness was expressed with thoughtful gestures and gifts, Peter, again, preferred to let his body do the talking.

He could go ever on. But knowing these differences isn't the point. Forgetting them is.

 

Because how can it be possible to forget how much someone means to you? How much you need them? How is that possible? How can you just forget?

 

Edmund is missing from him now. He used to fill all of Peter's negative space, was utterly and entirely complimentary to him, a vital part of Peter's very existence and now... now that part of him is missing. Missing like a limb, like sticking his toes into the pond at the earliest sign of summer. Missing him tears holes into Peter's chest, makes it impossible to breathe in the night.

 

 

 

°-°-°-°-°

 

 

 

When Ed and Lucy went to Narnia a third time, Edmund and him had barely been speaking.

After Edmund had rejected Peter's try at reconciliation, Peter had decided to wait regardless. When they had lost Narnia that first time Edmund had done the same for him, after all. It was only fair for Peter to return the sentiment. So, he swore himself to be the warm, reassuring presence in the background, to wait until Edmund was ready again. But the time flew on and on. Edmund kept his back to Peter.

There wasn't animosity between them exactly. But a kind of temporary truce, an air of waiting that was never going to pass anyway. Unnoticed, they grew apart.

 

Peter moved to the Professor's for the summer. It was the first long separation they ever had, that didn't include the last night spent in each other's arms, whispering reassurances.

Instead he had just boarded the train and left. Had only remembered that custom a week into his stay.

In his third weekend, Professor Kirke encouraged him to go down to the village. A young man spending his time holed up every day and all that... Peter shrugged and went. He didn't mind going for a walk and having a beer at the local pub, if that's what the Professor wanted. Maybe he'd even find a working telephone, make a call to the Scrubb's household.

Instead, he met Lisa. They literally bumped into each other. She was a German au pair, visiting relatives with her Host Family for the summer. She had brown wavy hair, a noticeable accent, a fondness for French cinema and a lovely smile. They met twice again that same week. Then everyday for two more.

He slept with her. Worse, he fell in love.

 

Peter introduced her to both the Prof. and Mrs. Macready and neither objected to her being at the mansion. Only sleepovers were strictly forbidden. Sometimes, he sneaked her in anyway.

They both expected it to be a summer fling but as it turned out her Host family actually resided in London. He saw her off at the train station, her host brother and sister making funny faces and embarrassing noises before their mother ushered them off. For decency's sake he only kissed her on the cheek and promised to follow soon.

 

A week later he phoned Lucy to tell her he'd be returning to Finchely in a couple of days. Unexpectedly, she neither whined nor begged him to come fetch them, as well. She must have gauged his unwillingness to do so from his vague remarks of having a lot of preparations to do before Uni would start. He didn't mention Lisa with one word.

“We went to Narnia again,” She said after a longer pause. Her voice both reverent and wistful.

“That's great,” Peter only answered. “I'm happy for you.”

Another silence.

“Listen, I gotta go, all right? It's getting dark already and Macready will only be complaining again, so... “

“Yeah, okay, don't work too hard and please call when you get back home.”

“Will do, bye Lucy.”

“Bye Pete.”

He almost hung up but then, “How is- ”

“Hm? What did you say?” Lucy's voice came through again.

_How is Ed?_

“Nothing, be good, all right? I'll talk to you soon.”

 

One lazy Sunday morning, they rolled around in the sheets, giggling and whispering. Lisa, only in knickers to his complete nudity.

“C'mere,” He said. 

Her bare breasts bounced and he kissed her fervently.

“You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen.” He said.

“God, I'm so in love with you,” He said.

She laughed as she swatted him away.

“Go get some food, Loverboy.” He mockingly grabbed for her ticklish sides a few more times before he shimmied into his briefs and went, grin wide. 

On the stairs he heard suspicious rustling. His steps quickened. At the house entrance stood Edmund, hurrying back into his shoes. Peter took the last step down and Edmund's head whipped up.

He had seen them. Peter opened his mouth but his brother was swifter, the door banged shut after him. The world crashed.

 

Numbly, he stayed still for a moment, swaying in the warm breath of disbelief. Then his heart juddered into panic.

As coherent as possible he explained to Lisa that she had to leave, that something had come up, that there was something he needed to take care of. Understandably, she was rather confused and offered to help but he kept shooing and shuffling her to the station. Impatiently, he craned his neck, bit his lip and fumbled with his shaking hands, waiting for the damn bus. Once she got on, he turned around and was off in search for Edmund.

 

If they were in Narnia, he'd know exactly where Edmund would go hiding. In his heart he heard the calm rush of wind gliding over water.

 

He found him at a small pond. That very one were Susan and him learned how to ice skate and Edmund and Lucy still hadn't.

He advanced slowly, watching Ed's back regretfully. It seemed the one thing he saw most of him these days. A turned away face. When had that happened? And when had he stopped longing for his smile?

The grass was dry beneath him. Edmund sat inches away, his naked feet in the water. At this time of year it must be just short of being too cold.

"Are we over?" He asked.

"I don't know," Peter said, turning his face to the lake's surface. "Maybe we should be. Maybe it'd make it easier."

Edmund didn't say anything for the longest time, gazing out into the water.

"I really wish you'd hold me right now."

"I know."

But he didn't.

 

 

 

°-°-°-°-°

 

 

 

Peter hasn't been home in four years. Not for anyone's birthday, or wedding, not even for Christmas. But the house looks just the same.

His parents welcome him warmly, if a little reserved. It's no surprise, they were the last ones he told of his return. Only called them last night from his hotel's lobby. Even then he had had the suspicion that Susan had already informed them. But if they are puzzled or insulted by the behaviour of their eldest son, they do not show it. Their reality probably hasn't adjusted again yet, either. They just take life as it comes, hard to do anything else when grief is there to drag you down at every corner.

His mum makes tea and his father gets the biscuits out.

 

After a moment of uncertain standing about they sit down with him. Soon the questions pour in. He answers unreluctant.

“I've been back a little over a week.”

“Yeah, I know it must seem a bit spontaneous perhaps but I had wanted to come back even after college already. The work situation just opened up by itself and Lisa wanted to stay in Germany, too, so... “

“No, we're good. We both decided it would be better this way. She'll be all right.”

And mostly:

“I am fine,” Less convincing every time.

His father throws a glance to the luggage Peter brought with him. His mother quietly broaches the subject she had been too hesitant to during yesterday's phone call. Sleeping arrangements.

“I thought we could set you up in here or- or your sister's room?” She says, opting to set down her teacup in favour of looking at him.

“We haven't changed your room, of course,” His father cuts in.

“It's just... No one's been in there since...,” Her voice breaks off. Peter's hand lands on hers.

“You can set me up wherever. But, if it's okay, I'd still like to go in there for a bit.”

Her hand squeezes his.

“Of course.”

 

His father sends him up with a sad smile and a touch to his back.

 

Peter enters the room slowly. He has to take a deep breath, before he closes the door behind him. His fingers move over a number of objects; the trophy from Edmund's first chess tournament, a flag of his college on the wall, a stack of Superman comics on the desk, a family photo on his night stand of which Peter can't remember it ever having stood there before. Then he picks up Sir Oinkalot and sits down on Edmund's bed. That old pig looks as worse for wear as usual. Peter's eyes roam around the room, notice the settled and stale air. The trusting dark eyes of Sir Oinkalot look steady at him and Peter holds him up to his face. He inhales deeply and there it is. The faintest trace, but still there.

“Why did he leave?” He whispers. “Why did he have to leave?” 

But Sir Oinkalot remains silent. And anyway, Peter was the first one to go. That blame will always fall on him.

 

After Edmund and him had split for good, Peter had a decision to make. He had planned to go to University in London but Edmund still had two years of school to get through and he didn't know if he wanted to be around his younger brother right then. In passing Lisa then asked him what he thought of Germany...

 

He remembers every detail now.

 

Lisa headed back to Germany a couple of weeks earlier, they'd both enrol in the same college in Hamburg. Although, they'd of course both live on campus, moving in together was out of the question but on the horizon.

Susan, Lucy, his parents and him in the passenger seat were ready to drive off, when Peter screamed Stop! And darted back into the house. Amidst all the hectic of the day he had forgotten his damn passport and flight ticket on the desk in his room.

He battered upstairs, snatched it and was back downstairs in five seconds flat. He'd been out the door just as fast, when his eyes hadn't glimpsed Edmund in the living room.

 

Edmund, who had declined coming along because the car was full enough with five people and Peter's luggage, who laughed and said Peter'd be back in two months max, ill of homesickness. Peter knew that wasn't really what Edmund was thinking but it hurt all the same, not to know his true feelings. Not being allowed to ask him about them any more.

That same Edmund was now dancing. Swaying more like it. He leaned against a wall and swung lightly to the music. Peter was glued to the spot. Schubert's  _Serenade_ was playing, he knows that now. It was a coincidence when two years later in a smokey music shop he heard the same melody and startled a guy badly in his pursuit of finding out the piece's title.

 

Edmund's profile was angled towards him, Peter could see his eyes were closed, entirely lost in the music. In that very moment he realized two things.

One, Edmund and him had never been more distant.

Two, Peter wanted him.

He should have walked over, grasp and kiss him. Edmund probably wouldn't even open his eyes until after Peter released him. He wanted to go and dance with him until they were back in their little house by the waterlily pond, until they were back at the place where they were free to be.

But Edmund opened his eyes and turned to face Peter. He stayed quiet, giving Peter every opportunity to say something. Instead, he left without another word.

It would be the last time he ever saw Edmund.

 

There are quiet tears sitting in the corner of his eyes. He goes to wipe them away, toppling Sir Oinkalot off his lap in the process. When he leans down to pick him up, his eyes land on a white paper corner wedged behind the night stand.

His hand brings up a closed envelope.

_Peter,_ it says.

 

He teeters back downstairs and his Mum must notice how shaken he is because she guides him back to the couch. Her hands and arms securely around him. This time the tears fall.

“Oh, oh no, oh sweetheart,” She cradles him, her arm coming to his hair and pulling him close. He has no idea where his father is and he doesn't dare to use his voice either so he just lets his Mum hold him.

“I had no idea,” She babbles. “You didn't even come to the funeral and mind you, your father and I aren't holding that against you. After all, you hadn't been long at your new job, so we know how that can be. But- But I couldn't ever have guessed how hard this has been on you, oh Darling.”

Her words make his heart burn even more brokenly.

 

Peter had been on his way. He'd already been at the English channel in Calais, ready to board the ferry when he couldn't move.

A week ago, when he'd gotten home from work and Lisa and him were cooking supper, the telephone rang. It was Susan. Susan never called. Her voice was a sobbing, bubbling mess.

A half frozen pond. Left in the middle of the night. An old couple on their morning walk. Nothing the medics could have done. Edmund...

“He's dead,” Susan whimpered. “Peter, Edmund is dead.”

He said nothing. Couldn't possibly say anything. Unsure, she called his name a couple times.

“Yeah, thanks for... for calling,” He finally managed to push out. Then he hung up and slid to the floor. Lisa was there in an instant, concerned and worried, grasping his hand and cupping his cheek.

“My brother killed himself,” He explained motionless. 

“Oh God, I'm so sorry,” Lisa had said and hugged him very tight. He hugged her back. There was nothing else to do.

 

He still wonders why it had been Susan who made the call. Possibly, because she knew how much Edmund had meant to him. How could she though? How could she have any inkling of the memories and feelings that tied Edmund and him to one another?

Maybe, he thought then, it was a leftover bond from the war.

_We were supposed to take care of them. And look, we failed, Pete, we failed._

 

The next morning he woke up with a smile because he had dreamed of a little house and a young man splashing among waterlilies. Five seconds later he ran to the bathroom, heaving into the toilet bowl.

He went to work. An hour into his shift he asked his Boss for two weeks off. He was obviously displeased by the request but one look at Peter's eyes and he grumbled his assent. On his way back home, he walked past a bookshop. An art calender depicting Monet's  _water lilies_ hung in the display. 

At home he discarded the almanac somewhere he wouldn't accidentally see it. Then he laid down on the bed and didn't move. Not when Lisa came home and asked him if there was anything she could do, or when an hour later she tried to coax him into the kitchen for dinner, or twenty minutes after that when she placed a steaming plate onto the night stand for him. He didn't move when she came to bed or when she left for work. For two days he didn't move.

At some point the phone rang and somehow he'd managed to answer. It was his father with details about the funeral. They said very little but Peter promised to come. Then he hung up, got the calendar and a tumbler of whiskey. He put Schubert's  _Serenade_ on and wallowed on the living room floor. He expected the tears to come by the gallons but instead he felt nothing. Just to make sure he threw his empty glass against the counter and even cutting himself while cleaning up didn't pierce the numbness around him.

 

Fast forward to Calais. To a ferry that would bring him back to England so he could be with his family when they buried his little brother. And that fact, being confronted with that fact was what ultimately broke him. He was going home to see his love be put into the ground.

He couldn't move. He just couldn't do it.

 

Instead he found a little room in a seaside hotel and quietly fell apart. He tried to deny the truth. They'd all been several times to a magical land, so what even was real. He got drunk and angry and smashed two bottles, five glasses, one chair and a bookshelf. He got drunker and staggered to the beach, calling for Aslan in the moonlight. He cried and cried... and cried... and cried. Then he drove home to Lisa and started from the beginning.

Six months later Lisa asks for a break and Peter quits his job with the vague notion of returning to England.  
“I know that you're grieving, and I want you to know that that isn't the reason I'm asking this but... I feel like you've completely walked out of this relationship. And I don't know if it's because of your brother or because you're done with us. And whatever it may be, I really think you need to have some time for yourself. I want you to have that and to know, I'll still be here.”

With something or other along those lines she had broken up with him.

He wasn't fighting for their relationship, she didn't have the impression he still cared very much.

Yeah, he knew. By Aslan, he knew. But how was he to make her understand that he'd fought and lost before. That he hadn't been able to keep the freaking love of his life beside him. That there was nothing left in him to give her. That it had always been Edmund's. Everything that Peter was, had been, would be, he'd given it all to Edmund. And Edmund had kept it, took it with him wherever he went. Now it lay six feet under ground, beating brokenly in his brother's still chest.

 

Six months he circled in ever smaller rings around his home and finally he has arrived. Maybe he has finally arrived.

"I loved him, Mum,” He sobs. “I loved him so much.”

 

 

An hour later Peter finds himself at the heavy black gate of the graveyard. It howls moanful when he closes it behind him. The chestnut-lined way leads directly to the chapel, he follows it quietly, taking in some of the ornaments, quotes, and floral arrangements around him. The last visible connections that these people had other people that loved and missed them.

Just before arrives at the end he has to turn right, past one, two, three, four, five other family gravesites. There he is.

 

_Edmund Pevensie_

_10.11.1930 – 25.2.1953_

 

_Beloved Son and Brother_

 

A choked off whimper and Peter collapses. He reads the lettering over and over, hoping to make any kind of sense. In the distance he hears a flock of geese. Heartbroken, he waits for them to fly past. It's a group of twenty and more, all quacking importantly. The sky is a violet backdrop to their dark silhouette. They are gone as fast as they came. Only their calls echo back. Peter means to turn his face away when, unexpectedly, a lonely pair of geese land not far away by a basin filled to the brim with water meant for plants. They converse in quiet talk with each other before occupying themselves with food hunting and feather cleaning. They ignore Peter altogether.

The still unopened letter burns heavy in his coat pocket. He pulls it out cautiously, tracing the black ink of his name reverently. A last gaze he sends to Edmund's name, imprinted on his dark tombstone.

Finally, he opens it.

 

 

_Remember the little house by the waterlily pond? I loved it there. I loved you there._

_Swimming in that cool, light water was the greatest thing to me. Feeling cleansed and pure as soon as I hit through the surface. I loved it when you came and swam with me but I loved it even more when you didn't. Because then, when I'd come home you'd be there already, waiting for me. And you would hug me, kiss me on the cheek, sometimes the top of my head, and ask me what I would like for dinner. While you cooked, you used to sing, too. You never did any other time, only when you were making food. I can still hear it it in my head..._

 

_We were happy there, weren't we? Truly happy. Just you and me and a flock of geese visiting from time to time. Do you remember what we used to say about them? That they flew to a free place? A place where everyone is allowed to be just as they are. We used to dream that place up, didn't we. Forgetting all the while that it actually exists. Aslan's country... But I'm preempting here._

_I've wondered for a very, very long time why we didn't work out. Actually, no, I used to wonder. Before I realized I was going about it the wrong way._

_It was hard for us later, wasn't it? I used to think we just needed to try even harder then. That we couldn't possibly be as weak as to be defeated by something as mundane as this; the world. That's why I put a lot of pressure onto you, too much. I'm sorry._

_But you know what I realized? Even in our reactions we were alternating. The first time we came back you were scared and overwhelmed and I was adamant to make it work. The next time we switched._

_All through that second stay I felt lonely. So, so lonely. I couldn't stand it. And I didn't recognise you anymore, you had become strange to me and I had no idea how to fix that. I thought, if only we could go back, if only we could go back to our little house._

_Actually, I was on my way to ask you to come there with me, when I heard Aslan talk to Susan and you. I heard... I heard him say that you were done. It stopped my breath. Then you smiled. You smiled at Aslan's words and that killed me. So, I ran, raced back home. Of course, home wasn't there anymore. I had anticipated that, you know, and yet...  
I've never felt so alone as the day I stood in that wide, empty field. I hated it, but when you came and you kissed and touched me I was so happy, I was, honestly, I was. That didn't stop my heart from breaking though, because I realised that here was the only place we could be together, and that place didn't exist anymore. That's why I rejected you, you know?_

_Because I knew England could never be that place for us. In fact, there was no place for us at all, anymore. I noticed you waiting for me, thinking we could make it this time. But I felt like I knew better now and should spare both of us the heartache. I was still glad though, whenever I caught you watching me._

_It was only when Lucy and I were on the Dawn Treader and Reepicheep sailed to Aslan's country, that I realised there was a place for us, after all. It's been in front of our noses, all along._

 

_The reason why I came home unannounced and early was because I wanted to tell you that. I wanted to tell you that it was okay, that we can both be happy, even with other people because someday we'd go there together to that place where we're free to be. Someday, after a long, long life, I thought. That's why I came home. To see you, to let you go. But you had already moved on..._

_Then, when we sat at that pond and broke up, I could only keep thinking of one thing: I wish he would hold me. If only I'd get him to hold me... then maybe this wouldn't sting so much, then maybe we could be together one last time and I could have a last kiss._

_I kept wondering how to make you understand. Should I say something? Or not? In the end I did and I wondered ever since whether that was a mistake. Would you have come back to me if only I'd kept my mouth shut?_

_It does not matter. But, the last time I saw you, I didn't know you anymore._

 

_So, don't be mad (even though I know you are) and don't be sad either (even though I know you are). I was just too impatient. I wanted to go there already to that place where we could be happy. Where we could be together and I could love you every day. Don't blame yourself._

 

_We belong to each other. And I will wait patiently for when we'll be reunited again. I never stopped loving you. In fact, I always will. I know that because my heart keeps beating so._

_I love you, I do, I do, I do._

 

_Yours, always_

 

_Edmund_

 

 

Peter lowers the letter, drops his hands and lets the tears stream freely. The geese set out to leave again. Always away, away, away. His fingers connect with the cold, dead stone of Edmund.

 

_Take care now, my love. Next time, I promise, I'll do better._

 


End file.
